


Serpents in Paradise

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Gauda Prime, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Insanity, M/M, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1266346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's been broken so badly his friends can't reach him. The only one he recognizes is Avon - there are loves that go too deep even for Federation brainwashing to reach.</p><p>Avon arrives on Gauda Prime not knowing any of this, and gets talked into trying to help Blake. Blake has other plans. He may be insane, but he's not going to stay a prisoner, not going to let anyone break Avon. He'd kill Avon first. Freedom or death, those are the only options.</p><p>Avon opts for freedom, and they wind up in the wilderness. With dirt. And rain. And snakes.</p><p>Not really Avon's kind of place.</p><p>*note* No one dies on GP, but most of the characters get too little attention to warrant character tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serpents in Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a zine challenge whose theme was 'snake pit'. 
> 
> Very old fic that I wasn't going to bother putting on AO3, but one reader assured me it was worthwhile. I hope you enjoy it. I have a list of other B7 fic I wasn't going to put up, but am reconsidering. Vote with your kudos and comments if you think the idea a good one. :^)

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Blake clutched his elbows tighter into his gut, trying to still their trembling. Only a little farther. He kept telling himself that he'd reach the outlet of this ventilation duct at any moment. He'd gotten quite good at lying to himself and others. But even he had eventually reached his limit. He didn't believe in anything any more- except, of course, pain, and betrayal, and despair. Those were the eternal verities, just as Avon had always said. Blake stopped, and leaned his forehead against the dusty, grease-slimed metal floor of the duct. He wished he hadn't thought about Avon. It hurt too much on top of everything else, to know that Avon had died believing Blake had betrayed him. He slumped uncaring in the filth, too tired even to weep. His surrender to grief was cut short, as he stiffened, hearing voices. There was an opening to one of the rooms beside him. Blake turned as best he could to look into the room, counting on the unlit shaft to hide him. The commander of the base- oh, Blake knew that soft, nervous voice from interminable interrogations- was giving orders to one of his lieutenants.

"We've got to find him! They're here. I hate to think what will happen if they find Blake before we can get to them." The commander ran his hand through his over-long reddish hair.

"We've got the pilot," the other man said. "They're bringing him in now."

"Oh, yes, the pilot. What good is that? Blake never met him. We have to get Avon."

Blake missed the man's reply as his mind whirled, locked into incredulous delight at the thought of Avon, Avon alive and coming here, coming to him! Blake had been so sure Avon was dead. He remembered the guns blasting, over and over and over and finally the limp weight of Avon's corpse knocking the breath out of Blake's paralyzed body. He shook his head, dismissing the memories. Maybe it had been another Federation trick to break his spirit, maybe it had been an imposter made up to look like Avon. Come to that, 'Avon' hadn't looked much like the sleek, spoiled Alpha tech he remembered from the Liberator. For the first time in ages, Blake smiled. Avon, alive!

He forced his attention back to the conversation taking place below his vantage point.

"There's another flier following ours. It's on a straight line course now, right for us."

"What? Orac. It must be Orac. How else could you analyze a random flight path?" The commander was excited. "Pull everyone back from the entrance and the tracking gallery. Avon's following his man. Let him and his crew in without any resistance."

"Shouldn't someone meet them?"

The commander shook his head. "They've just been shot down out of the sky and we've captured their friend. No, a direct confrontation is out of the question."

Blake waited impatiently for the men to leave. He had to get to Avon. Avon would know what to do. This was a godsend, a chance to make everything right. This time, he wouldn't make any mistakes.

 

Avon stepped into the tracking gallery, gun held high. No guards, no workers, not so much as a locked door. This must be a trap, but what kind? He was tempted to simply pass on the game, but he hated to leave Tarrant behind. After all, Avon's resources were limited. It would be stupid not to attempt to retrieve a skilled pilot. However annoying the fellow was.

"Avon." Tarrant staggered out of a corridor toward them. Avon watched, expecting hostile personnel to come galloping after. Dayna and Vila greeted the wounded man and eased him down against the wall. Avon glanced at Soolin, giving an unspoken order to guard. She nodded and continued scanning the room for any suspicious activity.

Avon knelt beside Tarrant. "I'm glad you made it."

"So am I. Listen Avon, this base..."

"Federation?" Avon asked sharply.

"No. It's Blake's. His people picked me up. I asked them to help find you, but they didn't trust me."

"Sensible." Avon relaxed slightly and grinned. "Does this mean Blake has finally learned his lesson?"

"Avon." Tarrant swallowed. His face went even paler. He hated having to say this. "Avon, Blake... isn't right." 

"What do you mean, not right?" Now Avon's voice was soft and dangerous, his eyes gone cold in an instant, all banter lost.

"He's sick, Avon. Mentally ill. He can't even tell his friends from his enemies."

"That's not so, Tarrant."

Avon whirled, hearing the deep velvet burr he remembered so well. "Blake." Blake was haggard, filthy and scarred, his body slack and heavier than Avon had ever seen him. "Blake?"

"It's me, Avon," Blake said desperately, walking to Avon with arms outstretched, ignoring the others. He didn't notice Dayna and Soolin training weapons on him or Vila's gaping stare. "Don't listen to him, Avon. Please, for god's sake, don't believe that traitor. He betrayed me on Earth, Avon. Let me kill him now, for both of us." Blake reached his hands to Tarrant's throat. Wisely, the pilot lay still. Those big hands could easily snap his neck, despite their shaking.

"No!" Dayna shouted. "Avon, stop him. Or I will." She aimed her gun at Blake's broad back.

"Blake!" Avon recovered from his paralysis and dropped his own gun, holding his empty hands out to Blake. "Tarrant's not your enemy. Even if he were, you can't kill an injured man in cold blood. Trust me."

Blake's face crumpled. "Oh, Avon, I always have." He stumbled forward into Avon's arms.

Avon returned the embrace, holding on after Blake passed out without warning.

"Er, Avon?" Vila said hesitantly. "What do we do now?" His gesture took in the unconscious Blake, the wounded Tarrant and the silent tracking gallery.

"I don't know." Avon carefully lowered Blake to the floor, staring down at him blankly. A mad Blake had not figured into any of Avon's plans.

"Perhaps I can help." Considering the current mood, it was wise of the speaker to have made his remark from the corridor, while waving a white cloth on a stick in front of him. "I'm Deva. I was Blake's second in command." He looked sadly at the large man lying beside Tarrant. "Until the Federation captured him."

"He needs professional help," Avon said shortly.

"He was examined by the best I could trust."

Avon said, "Not the best, then."

Deva shrugged. "No. But the best all work for the Federation, or its puppet 'allies'. The doctors who looked at Blake recommended shock therapy."

"You won't let them do it, will you, Avon?" Vila asked, horrified. "That's torture, that's all it is."

"Barbaric," Avon agreed. "Electro-convulsive therapy is rarely effective and frequently harmful."

"No, not that kind of shock." Deva said carefully, seeing Avon's hostility. "Emotional shock. Like the ancient snake pit treatment, where a patient was placed in a chamber filled with harmless snakes. It sometimes brought them back to reality long enough for more conventional treatment to begin."

Avon gave Deva a disbelieving stare. "He looks as though you've already tried that. At least you could keep him clean."

"It hasn't been easy. He's stubborn. He won't exercise and he'll only eat what he prepares himself and he keeps getting away from me. I can't handle him."

"Obviously." Avon glanced down at the tattered rebel leader. When he looked up again, he glared at Deva. "You sent for me, didn't you? To take him off your hands."

"Not like that!" Deva protested. "Yes, I did leak Blake's location to Orac. Since I'm his computer tech, Blake had given me Orac's codes and frequencies. He used to talk about you all the time. He'd say there wasn't anything Avon couldn't do, once he'd set his mind to it. He's very fond of you, you know."

"Fond? I don't think that describes our relationship very well."

"Jenna thought it did."

Avon went silent.

Vila asked, "Is Jenna here?" At Deva's nod, Vila wondered, "Why isn't she taking care of Blake? She'd never let him get in this state."

"Because he won't let her near him. He thinks she's Servalan." Deva sighed. "He keeps calling me Travis. It's very discouraging. Even Jenna's about given up."

Avon frowned. "If Jenna cannot help, then I fail to understand what you expect of me. I have no training in this field."

"Blake recognized you. He saw you as yourself. You're the only one who has any hope of getting through to him," Deva pleaded.

Avon bowed to the inevitable. Even his own crew was now staring at him, waiting for his answer. "If we stay, you will provide facilities for us. And handle your rebel business entirely without me. The others may participate if they wish, but I'll have no more part in it."

"Thank you, Avon. Thank you." Deva's puppyish bounce was most annoying.

 

"This isn't such a bad place, is it, Avon?" Vila peered cautiously into Blake's quarters. Deva had supervised the transfer of the unconscious man to the bed, but then been unceremoniously kicked out by Avon, who wanted no witnesses when Blake awoke. The computer tech was in a foul mood, not improved by Vila's prattling. "Tarrant's in their med center with Dayna and Soolin scaring off the nurses. Lots of pretty ladies here. The one who works the tracking gallery likes you. Poor girl, needs to have her eyesight checked. And the kitchen's stocked up with real food, not all those rotten concentrates. Nice to have something fresh for a change."

Vila was squirming, apparently he had something to say which Avon wouldn't like. "What do you want, Vila?" Avon was definitely not up to playing games. He glanced over at Blake. At his insistence, the man had not been drugged and might wake at any moment.

"Well, er, um..." Avon glared and Vila spat out the rest in one breath, "Deva wants me to get your gun so Blake can't get it and shoot us all in our sleep. It wasn't my idea," he added, hands held out in innocence.

Avon ran his hands over the stock of his weapon. Only a few years ago he didn't know one end of a gun from the other, now he'd feel naked without it. Blake wasn't the only one who had changed. Abruptly, Avon felt revulsion at the way his hands automatically caressed the gun. He held it out to Vila. "All right." He grinned at Vila's astonishment. "Deva may be right. A rare occurrence, no doubt. Vila." He paused, trying to phrase himself properly. "I want you to understand. I didn't come here looking for a figurehead. I came..."

"To give Blake back his rebellion. Right," Vila said briskly.

"You knew?"

Vila shrugged. "What else could you do? We weren't getting anywhere. Not for a lack of trying. Face it, we were always Blake's thieves, not rebel heroes."

Now Avon laughed, and it felt good for once. "No, no heroes, not us. We'll leave the heroism and self-sacrifice to Tarrant, shall we?"

"I s'pose we'll have to." Vila turned serious. "I know you don't want to talk about it, Avon, but I have to get Malodaar off my chest." When Avon remained silent, Vila was encouraged to continue. "It's not that I expected self-sacrifice from you, Avon, but you didn't have to twist the knife afterwards. 'You're always safe with me.' Hah! "

Avon closed his eyes briefly, accepting the accusation. "I think it cut me as well, Vila. For what it's worth, I regretted the words the moment I said them."

"And did you regret trying to kill me?"

"I..." Avon was saved having to decide between an evasive answer and a too-blunt truth by Blake's groan. "Get out, Vila." He pushed the thief back and shut the door.

Vila hesitated, listening for sounds of mayhem, then went to tell Deva.

Avon sat next to the bed and attempted to soothe Blake with a hand on his shoulder. Blake jerked at the touch, then sat up, startled awake. "Avon. Where? How? Is it really you, this time?" Blake clutched Avon's arms so tightly that his fingernails turned white under the grime.

"Well, at least the last question is original. Of course it's me. And what do you mean, this time?"

Gradually, Blake loosened his grip, while he searched Avon's face. "I don't know. You look like Avon, but then so did the other one. And then he killed me."

Avon made an exasperated noise. "Really, Blake. Neither of us is dead." His bedside manner may not have been according to Sigmund Freud, but Blake was responding to Avon's sarcasm where Deva's gentle coaxing had failed.

Blake ran his hand through his curls. "It's all been rather confusing lately," he confessed. "Since I lost Jenna. Avon, what about Cally and Vila?"

The other man's face went blank. "Vila is as annoying as ever."

"And Cally?"

Avon looked directly at Blake then, and Blake wished he hadn't. The brown eyes were as cold as the new-turned earth of a grave. "I made a mistake. So did Cally. She trusted me."

"I'm sorry, Avon," Blake said awkwardly.

"Well, now, that makes two of us." He straightened. "Cally expected to die fighting the Federation. And she did. A self-fulfilling prophecy. We were trying to bring down Leviathan with a pea-shooter, Blake. Perhaps it's time to call a halt, heal our wounds and withdraw. Let others continue the fight you began."

Blake's face hardened. "How long have they had you, Avon? Did you tell them anything?"

"What do you mean? No one has me. Or you, for that matter. We are on your base, Blake."

"Ah, Avon," Blake said sadly, "they broke you, didn't they?" At Avon's indignant look, he said, "There's no shame in it, Avon. I know how it is, they pick and pry at you, until you'll believe anything they say, just so they'll leave you alone." He pulled Avon to him, holding the other man pressed tight to his chest, rocking slightly and murmuring words of comfort. Avon stiffened, then sighed, prepared to endure Blake's maudlin affections as long as necessary. "Don't worry, Avon. Now that we're together again, nothing can stop us."

"Wonderful. Marvelous." Avon sighed again. "Much though I hate to offend, Blake, I think the possibilities are strong that nothing will want to get close enough to you to stop us. Is there some pressing reason why you don't bathe?"

Blake pulled back. "They might put something in the water. Suppressants, hallucinogens, who knows what."

"Direct injection would be simpler. Since when has the Federation been subtle? Go and bathe, Blake, the world will thank you for it."

"And you?"

"I will be inexpressibly grateful."

"I can't pass up that opportunity. A grateful Kerr Avon- it boggles the mind." Blake got up, smiling, and went into the attached lavatory.

Blake was as stubborn in his delusions as he was in his idealism. Now, what? Avon was entirely out of his field. He edged nervously closer to the lavatory.

The water was running, and Blake was singing some improbable tune about a drunken pilot. He had left the door open, perhaps as a sign of trust in Avon. Blake scrubbed so thoroughly that his pale skin reddened- except in oddly marked patches of scar tissue. So many scars, and most so skillfully healed, no doubt in preparation for the next round with the torturers- except for the eyelid which drooped with a cynical leer. Perhaps that had happened during Blake's escape- or had it been a rescue? He would have to talk to Deva later, find out exactly what had happened to Blake.

Blake turned to meet Avon's gaze. Uncomfortable under that demanding, devouring, stare, Avon shifted his eyes. Then he noticed Blake's penis rising. Feeling even more awkward, Avon turned aside and reached for Blake's discarded clothing.

"Leave it!" Blake's bellow startled Avon.

He lifted his eyebrows, astonished. Blake didn't mind being observed in the nude, but his filthy garments were sacrosanct? "Certainly." He made a show of dusting off his fingers. "Radiation tongs are probably in order, in any case."

"Sorry." Blake smiled. "There are clean clothes in the other room," he offered.

"Yes. Well, why don't I fetch them while you finish in here." Avon retreated with dignity. He took his time shuffling through all the drawers, hoping that Blake would have calmed down before he had to face him again. That irrational moment disturbed him.

"Thanks." Blake had padded up behind Avon to take the clothes, surprisingly quiet for such a big man. He had a towel draped about his middle, inadequately covering a rather large bulge. Blake fiddled with the twist of towel until Avon, feeling a blush starting, turned his back.

"We need to talk, Blake," Avon said sternly, addressing a blank wall, while the rustling and clinking of cloth, leather and clasps indicated that Blake was being made decent- well, as decent as a mad rebel terrorist with apparent designs on a tired computer tech could be.

"The time for talk is over, Avon." Blake sounded triumphant and resigned at the same time. An odd combination. "But it's all right, now. I have the answer. They won't be able to get any more information out of you- out of either of us."

Alarmed, Avon turned. Blake was dressed, clean, and confident, standing with his old arrogant assurance that he knew what was right for the galaxy. And he had a weapon to back up that assurance.

"Where did you get that?"

"I've had the gun hidden here for some time. But they were careful, I've only just found a power pack for it." Blake steadied the sights on Avon. "It'll be quick, Avon, I promise."

"No! Why, Blake, why?" Avon held his ground, hands held conspiciously empty at his sides. Damn that fool Vila, and double damn Deva and triple damn himself. All he had against an armed madman was his tongue. Not quite an even battle. "You've never shot an unarmed man before now. You wouldn't even shoot Travis, why me? Do you hate me that much?"

Blake's voice shook. "You know I don't hate you, Avon. I never could. Try to understand. We mustn't talk. I can't hold out any longer. This is the only way."

"No, wait." Avon thought furiously. "Blake, we could escape." The gun wavered. "You have a weapon. They won't be expecting you to resist, or they wouldn't have put me in with you. I'm supposed to show you how well we'll be treated once you give in. So they'll let us out of here and they won't be watching so closely."

"Maybe." Blake sounded uncertain.

"I want to live, Blake," Avon said fiercely. "You do not have the right to take that chance away from me."

"All right, Avon. You'll have your chance." He tucked the handgun into his voluminous shirt under the leather-thonged vest. "But I won't let us be taken alive again."

The door had been left unlocked, on Avon's previous orders. Also on Avon's orders, none of the rebels approached Avon and Blake as they made their 'escape'. Oh, they did receive a few odd looks, which Avon attributed to Blake's insistence on draping an arm over Avon's shoulder as they walked. Blake, of course, saw enemies at every corner.

"Once we get to the woods, it'll be all right, Avon," Blake whispered, nuzzling into the other man's ear. "I've lived rough on GP many times, I can take care of us out there for years, if need be."

Avon muttered, "You once called me a civilized man, Blake. That is not my idea of civilization."

Blake grinned. " 'A book of verse beneath the bough, A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, - and thou - Beside me singing in the Wilderness- Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow.' "

Avon groaned inwardly. Blake mad was bad enough, but Blake romantic, quoting Khayyam? They were both doomed. Oh, Hell. Avon braced himself. When Blake saw who was coming down the corridor the bloodbath would begin. Obviously, Jenna couldn't wait to see how Avon's miracle cure was progressing. And she'd brought company, just the kind calculated to drive Blake right over the edge. Damn.

"I'm sorry, Avon," Blake murmured. He'd noticed them, too. Blake slipped the gun out of hiding and pressed it into Avon's spine.

"Let me talk, Blake," Avon said desperately, flinching from the unyielding plexi-steel muzzle. "I can still get us out."

"Blake," Jenna cried out and opened her arms. She would have run to him, but the rebel tugged Avon around, revealing the gun.

"If you have any use for Avon, Servalan, you won't interfere," Blake said coldly.

"Jenna, what's..." A familiar curly head pushed through the startled group to stand beside Jenna.

"And as for you, Tarrant..." Blake swung the gun toward the pilot.

"No, Blake!" Avon shouted. "Don't! Just take 'Servalan' hostage until we get out of here."

"I could still kill Tarrant," Blake mused.

"Please," Avon said softly, "Don't kill anyone. It isn't necessary. Or have you grown to enjoy murder?"

"All right. For you, Avon. But if I see you again, Tarrant, you're dead." Roughly Blake grabbed Jenna's arm and took away the gun she was carrying. He tucked it into his belt, after giving Avon a thoughtful glance.

"Don't I get a gun?" Avon asked.

"Maybe later." 

The landing field had half a dozen fliers in various states of decrepitude. Hardly your usual Federation vessels. Blake didn't seem to notice. He picked out the most likely vehicle, a long-range two seater model and had Avon check it over while he methodically disabled all the others. He kept Jenna at his side, watching her wince as he destroyed the ships she'd so painstakingly acquired. "It's a pity the space field isn't handy," she finally said, "you could get a much more satisfying bang out of blowing up a few star-liners."

Blake eyed her coldly, his ruined eye adding malice. "I could settle for just blowing you up."

"Blake, it's ready," Avon interrupted. "Let's go."

"We can't take her." Blake raised the gun and before Jenna or Avon could protest, he brought the muzzle down sharply on her neck. Jenna dropped, limp. Avon knelt to take her pulse. "She isn't dead," Blake said impatiently. "But if we wait around for her troops, we will be."

Reluctantly, Avon climbed into the flier. He glanced down as Blake expertly took the ship into the air. Jenna was a small crumpled patch on the ground, quickly surrounded by her people. He hoped she would survive. At least he'd gotten Blake away from the base without a massacre. So now Blake could only kill Avon and himself. Avon shook his head. There had to be a way of getting through to Blake. Maybe once they were 'safe' the rebel would be more amenable to reason.

"I've often dreamed of us running away together," Blake said once they were well away.

"You make it sound as if we'd eloped."

Blake chuckled. "Well, we have gotten away from the authority figures who were determined to keep us apart. And now we are free to do as we please." He set the controls to auto-pilot and stretched. "I haven't felt free in so long, Avon, I hardly know what to do with myself." He slid his arm along the back of the seat to encircle Avon's shoulders.

"Will you kindly desist?" Avon shrugged Blake's arm away. "Why do you continue to act like a besotted adolescent?"

"Because that's what I feel like around you, Avon. Kerr. Why do you frown so?"

"Because this is ridiculous. And I prefer to be called Avon, as you well know."

"But Kerr is such a fitting name for you. Rare, beautiful, strong..."

"Also short and to the point. Get your hands off!"

Blake complied. "You weren't so touchy when we used to make love on the Liberator."

"We never 'made love'. Not on the Liberator. Not anywhere outside your fevered imagination."

"Oh, come now, you remember that time in your cabin. You and Vila had just returned from Freedom City, which I wasn't supposed to know about, and you, Avon, made love to me."

Avon scowled. "I was drunk. We both were."

Blake smiled. "We were both lonely."

"You may have been lonely. I was randy. So we had sex. We did not 'make love'."

Blake laughed. "I've often asked myself why we didn't continue our relationship."

"There wasn't any relationship. And Jenna, you do remember Jenna, don't you, Blake? Jenna would have killed us both, slowly, if she ever knew what had happened that one time I was stupid enough to fall into bed with you."

"I remember Jenna," Blake said sadly. "And she did know, Avon. I told her, after Star One. She'd tracked me down to join me and I couldn't let her go on hoping any longer. It was too cruel. I never felt anything toward her, Avon. Or for any woman."

This was getting into dangerous territory. "You were merely supressing your desires in order to 'avoid favoritism'."

"Um, no actually," Blake nibbled on a knuckle, then looked up at Avon. "I lied. There was always a favorite on the Liberator. And you were it. You're just so damn gorgeous."

Avon fended off Blake's hands once more, feeling absurdly like the kidnapped heroine in an ancient serial entertainment. "I'm supposed to believe that the whole time you were blatantly risking my life, I was your 'favorite'? Remind me to get on your bad side then, it's safer."

"You are such a brat, Avon," Blake said fondly. "Makes me want to take you over my knee and spank you."

Avon's eyes went wide with indignation. "Not on your life. For your information, Blake, I am not your type. I like women. I love women. If I ever get married, it will be to a woman."

Blake scrubbed his palm thoughtfully over his chin. "I don't believe you. Oh, I don't doubt you can perform sexually with a woman. But did you ever really love one, not just use her and walk away?"

"Yes. Once." Avon turned aside to look out the window at the passing treetops. "Her name was Anna Grant."

"Why didn't you marry her, then?"

"She was already married. She was also the Federation's top investigator." He turned to glare at Blake. "I believed in her. I sought revenge for her sake, and eventually I had to kill her to save myself."

Blake was silent a moment. Then he said, "But did you love her?"

"I thought I did. What does it matter now? The point is, I don't love you. At the moment, I am seriously considering hating you." Avon went sullenly silent and closed his eyes.

Blake sighed. Avon was not cooperating. But Blake had faith in his powers of persuasion. He knew Avon loved him, all he had to do was make Avon see the truth. It would have been easier if he had been able to seduce Avon on the London as he'd been tempted to do, but he hadn't dared. It would have made the vicious Federation lies seem true. So many ignorant people still thought homosexuality was only a step away from paedophilia.

The Federation had been clever, tarring Blake with that particular brush. They had no evidence of his 'leaning', he'd been far too careful all his life, but psychological tests undoubtedly showed it. The 'deviants', as they so labeled Blake's kind, had been driven underground more thoroughly than the rebels. It was one reason Blake had fought so hard. It was difficult for a man of his passionate nature to never be allowed to love openly. No more of that. He'd decided under the last round of torture that he was going to die honest to himself at least. He was sexually attracted to men, and he loved Kerr Avon, willful, spoiled, little bastard that he was, with a pure and devout passion that could never die. Not even when he'd thought Avon dead.

He glanced at his passenger. Avon was slouched against the window in a hunched over, cramped pose. He was about to promise not to touch him, in order that Avon might sit more comfortably, when a gentle rasping snore told him Avon had given up the fight against sleep. Carefully, cradling Avon's head and shoulders, Blake eased the sleeping man against himself, revelling in the soft warmth pressed against his chest. Avon looked so vulnerable that Blake's heart ached. He smoothed the soft brown hair back from Avon's face. The tech muttered crossly, squirmed to pillow his head on Blake's belly and grasped a handful of Blake's shirt. He settled then, making small contented sounds as Blake stroked his back lightly.

Blake tilted his head back against the seat and silently thanked whatever gods there were for granting him this moment. Avon would wake, ill-tempered, suspicious, and aggravating as ever, but against that Blake would balance the trusting man who clung to him now.

***

"What?"

"Hardly original," Blake teased and quickly regretted it. Avon was not at his best in the mornings. Even less when he found himself unexpectedly in a forest, with no flier in sight.

"Original? You want original?" Avon shook himself, an evil gleam coming into his eyes.

"No. I don't want original." Blake twisted a leaf into a cup and dipped it in the improvised pot he had simmering over a small fire. First time Blake'd found a sensible use for a Federation guard's helmet. "Want some tea?"

"That isn't tea."

"It's the closest you're going to get out here. It's not bad." Blake drank, then made another leaf cup. "You do have to hurry though, the china is rather fragile."

Avon took the leaf, gingerly, feeling the heat. He drank the 'tea' then shuddered. "It may not be bad, but it certainly isn't good." He stretched, then glanced around. "Where's the flier?"

"I set it on auto-pilot after I unloaded any potentially useful items, including you." Avon didn't smile, annoyed that Blake had been able to carry him from the ship. If nothing else, Avon's survival instincts should have wakened him. "It should reach the ocean before it runs out of fuel."

"So we're stranded here, facing a primitive life of dirt, starvation, and a general lack of amenities. This is Paradise?"

"We're together. That's enough for me." Despite Avon's grumbling, Blake couldn't muster enough irritation for a scowl. It felt so good to be with Avon and able to openly show his love.

"Cease making sheep's eyes at me, or..."

"Or what?" Blake was unmoved by the threat.

Avon narrowed his eyes. "Or I shall find my own campsite and you may moon over your unrequited love in solitude."

The big rebel grinned and blew Avon a kiss. "Go on then, I'm not stopping you." He finished cleaning a small carcass and spitted it, then leaned the meat above the fire. "Shall I call you to breakfast, or will you be dining out?"

Avon whirled and stalked away.

"I can track you anywhere you go, sweetheart," Blake called out. The reply was unprintable. Blake grinned again. "That's my Avon." He contentedly turned the meat, while waiting for his love to get over his morning sulkiness.

 

"Blake will be the death of me yet," Avon growled to himself. "Unless he manages to kill himself first." He paused, thinking about Blake sitting alone with two guns. No, Blake would never commit suicide while he had a Cause. At the moment, seducing Avon appeared top priority on the list.

Considered rationally, Avon hadn't much objection to having sex with Blake. The one time they'd been together had been exciting and quite satisfying. Not quite satisfying enough to be worth permitting Blake to win. Win what, though?

He was still musing, idly turning over stones with a stick, when Blake's voice came from behind him. "Are you hungry, Avon?"

Avon turned. Blake was leaning against a tree, shirt undone halfway down his broad chest, arms crossed and a lascivious grin on his face.

Avon dropped the stick and met Blake with a expressionless stare with some difficulty. It was rather flattering, to be admired so. Especially when one hadn't been desired in years. Except by the enemy. "Perhaps," he replied.

Blake's grin widened.

 

The cooked rabbit-thing was edible. Generously, Avon admitted as much to the chef. Wiping his hands on a tuft of dried grass, he settled back against a tree. There was something to be said for bucolic bliss, after all. He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles, and shut his eyes. He didn't have to worry what his crew were up to; Deva could have that pleasure. He didn't have to worry about Servalan; her slinky gown and stiletto heels would hardly suit this environment. He didn't even have to worry about seeking wealth; what good would money be to him here? That left only one thing to concern him. "What do you think you're doing?" He asked, as he felt the heat of a body well within his defensive zone.

"You have some grease on your mouth," Blake said.

Avon slitted his eyes open, but made no comment. He simply was too relaxed to mind. And when Blake's lips met his, he cooperated lazily, permitting the other man to explore his mouth, Blake's blunt fingers to thread through his hair. Then Avon chuckled.

Affronted, Blake pulled back. "I may be out of practice, but I didn't think I was laughable."

"I just had a thought, Blake. The last person I kissed who had a beard was my Great-Aunt Sophronia."

Blake felt his scruffy beard. "It bothers you?"

"It is a trifle distracting," Avon remarked.

"Then it goes." Blake paused. "Only I don't have any depilatory and my skinning knife's dull." He pondered the dilemma for a moment. "May I borrow your knife, Avon?"

"What knife?"

"The one you always keep in your boot. Along with your lock picks. Learned a few tricks from Vila, didn't you?"

Avon looked sour. "As you have not offered me one of your two guns, I see no reason why I should give up my only means of defense. After all, I may have to protect my virtue."

"Oh, that's a distinct possibility. Here," Blake held out the handgun he'd taken from Jenna. "I'll trade."

Avon sat up, surprised. He exchanged knife for gun, then said, "Somehow, I gathered the impression that you didn't trust me with a gun."

"That was at their base, Avon. You might have been programmed to capture me."

"I see." Avon watched, then shook his head when the big man's hand slipped and he nicked himself with the razor-sharp blade. "Give me that," he said impatiently. Blake handed the knife back, smiling. "Hold still." Avon carefully followed the contours, disconcerted by the calm, accepting gaze Blake gave him. "Up." Avon tilted the rebel's chin and stroked the knife with precision, removing curls of tough beard from the tender skin held taut, at his mercy. His stomach was queasy at the thought of allowing another such power over him. A twitch would be enough. Blake must be truly mad. Meticulously, Avon cleaned the blade on a scrap of fur, then returned it to his boot.

"Thank you." Blake examined his face by feel. His eyes were merry now. "Ah, now you haven't any excuse for not kissing me."

"Shall I think of one?"

"Don't bother." Blake hovered over Avon again. "Unless you have any further objections, Avon, I'd like to make love to you now."

Avon glanced around. "I don't seem to have any other appointments. A few minutes of sexual dalliance would not come amiss."

Blake shook his head. "No, Avon. I'm going to make love to you." He frowned. "And what's this 'few minutes' nonsense?"

Suddenly in the mood, Avon yanked Blake down to him. "Call it what you will, Blake. I find I am hungry after all." Given free rein, Blake was an excellent kisser. His full, mobile lips took Avon's breath away, then Blake moaned and moved his head, covering Avon's face and neck with hot, rapid kisses.

"Oh, Avon, I thought you were dead. I would have died, too."

"It was all a lie, Blake." Avon grasped Blake's hair and shook him, gently. "Listen to me, they tricked you. They drugged you and tortured you, and undoubtedly programmed you. Believe me. I'm not dead, Jenna's alive, although you think she's Servalan, Tarrant is merely my headstrong pilot, and your so-called 'computer expert', Deva, is very tired of being called Travis."

"I don't know, Avon. I don't know what's real anymore."

Avon reached down and rubbed at Blake's crotch, eliciting an astonished gasp. "This is reality, Blake. You, me, here and now. I have never lied to you. Think, man, they've made mistakes. You know Travis is dead, you saw me kill him. You know me, damn you."

"Yes. I know you. I want to believe you. You don't know how much." He tapped the side of his head. "It's all confused up here." He brought Avon's hand, clasped in his, to rest on Blake's chest, above the rapidly beating heart. "But here, I know it's you."

"Well, now, that's a start." Perhaps a little positive reinforcement would help to wipe away the programming. It couldn't hurt, and might be extremely pleasant. "Concentrate on me, Blake. On what you're feeling." He pushed Blake's loose vest and baggy shirt off. "This is real, know it, Blake." He leaned close to sample a nipple.

Blake shuddered. "Call me Roj, then." He ripped at Avon's leather jacket, frustrated by the layers of fabric between them.

"Roj." This was rapidly losing its therapeutic aspects. Avon pulled away from Blake to tug at his own clothes. He could get them off faster. Blake let go reluctantly, in order to get rid of his own encumbrances.

As Blake's garments had fewer studs, he spread them on the leaf scattered ground. While sexy as hell, Avon's outfit would be bruising to lie on.

"Come here, Kerr." Blake held out his arms.

Avon gave Blake a crooked grin and dodged. He laughed out loud when he was tackled. "Roj." He wriggled free and began working his way down the softly padded torso, until he reached his not-so-soft goal. "This is mine," he gloated, fondling Blake's eager cock.

"Ah." Blake gasped, then grabbed Avon's hips, dragging them around so he could return the favor. "Yes." He licked the side of Avon's penis, pleased by the immediate response. He opened his mouth wide and engulfed his lover, suckling the tender flesh, gulping avidly. He reached between Avon's trembling cheeks and caressed roughly. Rapidly he moved his head up and down, sculpting Avon with his lips, feeling him grow to full length. Dimly remembered love-lessons from Blake's youth enabled him to relax his throat muscles to accept all of his lover. He swallowed, deliberately, massaging the captive organ.

Avon thrashed. He released Blake's penis, overwhelmed by the unexpected attack. "Wait, Roj!" He clutched at Blake frantically, gasping for breath.

Blake pulled off and stared smugly at the writhing man below him. He sucked on his own fingers while Avon watched, fascinated. "You'll like this," he promised, his rich voice so deep with arousal that Avon felt it vibrate in his bones. Unable to speak, he lay awaiting Blake's pleasure. "You'll love it," Blake growled and bent to his task. He took Avon in his mouth again, holding the desperate hips down with his weight across the other man's thighs. He ran his moistened fingers around Avon's quivering balls, then past, probing between the tense muscled legs. He pushed in abruptly, first one finger, then two. Avon cried out, inarticulate pleadings, and incoherent denials mingled with Roj's name. Blake was rock-hard and throbbing himself, vicariously stimulated by Avon's pleasure to the slender edge of his control. He ignored his own needs, setting a third finger into Avon, pressing and rubbing slickly against the bulge of prostate gland. Shocked, Avon screamed and convulsed, coming hard, arched up against Blake's anchoring weight.

"Well, that was your 'few minutes'," Blake said after the other man's pulse no longer pounded in his neck, and his breathing was back to normal. "What about me?"

Avon waved a hand weakly. "Serves you right," he said without rancor. "You've done me in. You'll just have to help yourself."

"Right, then. I'll help myself to you." Blake noted Avon's flinch. "I won't hurt you, Kerr." He petted Avon's thigh, soothing the tight muscles, waiting for permission to continue.

Avon lifted his head, wearily. Blake was looking at him, his face lit up with love and childlike delight. It would be monstrous to deny him anything, Avon felt in that moment. "All right, but watch the back."

Blake chuckled. "Only the back?" He leaned forward to kiss Avon, a swift gentle brush of lips. "Can't I watch the front, too?"

"Won't be much to see, I'm afraid."

"You always were too modest, Kerr." Blake held Avon against himself for a moment, then shuddered. "I really can't wait much longer," he apologized.

"Then don't."

"Avon." Blake backed up slightly, to kneel between Avon's sprawled legs. He hadn't dared take Avon before. Not with Avon drunk and playful, in a boys' school frame of mind. Not without acknowledging his feelings, which he feared would have driven Avon away. His cool, composed computer tech always had been terrified of emotion. He'd seen that first thing- well, second thing maybe, after Avon's eyes. But he'd never seen Avon's eyes like they were now, huge and gentled.

Avon slapped at Blake's thigh. "Are you having an out-of-body experience, or have you just fallen asleep? Neither is very flattering."

So much for the gentle gazelle eyes. "I'm not sure. I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh, go on, before I fall asleep on you."

Blake took a deep breath, steadying himself. He took a moment to retrieve a suitable lubricant from the small medical kit he'd taken from the flier and use it generously on both of them. He lifted Avon's knees, easing them back, then leaned in, wrapping his arms around his lover. Avon grunted, but did not appear in any discomfort. Blake rocked against him, pleased when Avon reached up to stroke his lover's side. Sometimes, when his guard slipped, Avon could be very gentle. But Blake couldn't, not now. He guided his aching cock into Avon, pushing the broad, wet head in past tight resistance. Avon's mouth twisted and he shut his eyes, turning his head aside. A bare pause, a gulp of breath, and Blake was moving, slow and deep, sheathing himself in the warm, living, essential core of Avon. Avon made a small protesting sound, then clamped his lips down.

"Shh. It'll be all right." Blake ran a trembling hand over Avon's sweat-matted hair.

"Get on with it," Avon whispered. His eyes opened wide and wild. He was trembling, too.

Blake's hips thrust, entirely of their own accord. He moaned, half from the sensation, half in apology. Avon clung to him now, strong arms clutching Blake's shoulders. "Don't stop. More, Blake." Avon shuddered as Blake complied. Avon lifted his legs, locking them around Blake's plunging hips. "More," he commanded.

"Oh, Avon." The big rebel abandoned his control. He lunged, fast and furious, slamming into Avon, his sweaty torso smacking against Avon's leaner frame with bruising force. Neither man noticed. He possessed Avon. He knew that Avon could never leave him now, never. He thrust hard, grunting and swearing, encouraged by the whimpering cries his love made as Blake's cock claimed him, branded him as Blake's own. He felt Avon's organ stir, roused once more. He pounded harder, engorged beyond pain, striving selfishly for his own ultimate pleasure, yet intimately aware of Avon writhing beneath him. Blake pressed his hand between them and took hold of Avon, squeezing and pulling in rhythm to his own thrusts. His universe contracted to Avon's ass soft against his hips, Avon's cock hard against his belly, and Avon's frantic response as Blake filled him, pistoning in and out fiercely. Blake bellowed, triumph and joy flowing out of him as he shot his seed into his love. He pulled harder and Avon bucked against him, slicking Blake's hand and stomach with semen. Then Avon collapsed, limbs falling as gravity took them, sprawling motionless beneath Blake.

"I love you," Blake said once he could speak.

Avon lifted a hand to brush lightly against the side of Blake's sweaty neck. "That may be the most foolish thing you have ever done."

"Which- making love to you, or saying I love you? Or perhaps, falling in love with you?"

After a moment's silence Avon shifted. "I'm tired. And you're heavy. What have you been eating lately, bon-bons?"

"So you don't want to talk about it." Blake gave in graciously. He disentangled himself from Avon, then settled at the other man's side, one arm draped protectively over him.

"Must you?" The tech complained when Blake began petting him, slowly, just for comfort.

"I need to. Indulge me."

The rich baritone worked its usual magic on Avon. "I could make a career out of indulging you," he muttered, in lieu of active resistance. "A poorly paid career. Not so much as a roof over my head."

"Ah, but look, Avon," Blake pointed up through the forest canopy at a patch of clear blue sky. "We have our freedom."

"No speeches, Blake. I really am tired."

There wasn't anything else to say, anyway, so Blake lay there silently, stroking Avon's side and back until his lover fell asleep, curled against the big rebel for warmth. Blake didn't follow suit for a long time. He was both deliriously happy, and terribly worried at the same time. Avon wouldn't live happily ever after in the forest. If Blake was going to hang onto him, he'd have to provide the little necessities of life - to Avon that meant computers, and enough money to ease his insecurities. And it would be wise to have a few other people around for Avon to fight with, as a change of pace. It wouldn't do to have him getting bored with Blake's repartee.

He eventually nodded off, while considering ways and means of recovering Avon's pet, Orac.

***

"Avon?" Blake stretched, cracking stiffened joints noisily and yawning. He glanced around. No Avon. Probably gone to attend to personal matters. Just as well, Blake was an unlovely sight on awakening. He ran his hands through his tangled curls, rough combing them into a semblance of order. He looked down at his middle and put a strict exercise regimen on his agenda. Avon was a bit out of shape, too. The tech had always hated exercise, resenting it as a waste of time which could more profitably be spent working on his gadgets. Blake smiled. He could design an exercise program which would be enjoyable for both parties.

There was a stream not far from the camp, undoubtedly Avon had heard it. He'd be there. His Avon was fastidious as a cat. Blake added a sybaritic bathing pool to his imaginary Avon nest. He dressed quickly.

Avon had been at the stream. But he'd gone on. Curiosity was another of Avon's cat-traits. He'd be exploring. Blake had a quick wash and brush-up himself, before following. He had no difficulty locating the tracks made by the oh-so-macho boots. The rebel compared his own prints with the smaller ones belonging to his quarry and smiled, remembering when he'd discovered Avon had Zen put lifts in all his footgear. _I did intimidate you a bit, didn't I? You needn't have bothered. You had me completely under your spell, even then._

Blake wasn't in any hurry to find Avon. He was rehearsing his proposal. It wouldn't do to offend his love now, simply because he was feeling too good to be cautious. He chuckled. Rub Avon's fur the wrong way, and he would be sure to get his back up. One needed to offer him cream first, then you could have him purring in your lap. Something splashed into Blake's eye. He blinked and looked up. While tracking and thinking, he hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings. It was abnormally dark for the time of day, and distant rumblings told him the fat solitary raindrops striking at irregular intervals were the vanguard of an army. He had a flash vision of Avon in the rain, clothes clinging skin-tight, hair black and curling along the nape of his neck, eyes flashing with feline disgust of cold and wet. Avon had looked like that when he returned from disabling the Solium bomb at Albion's ice-cap. He had been soaked to the skin, shivering, yet grinning gleefully. Blake had come very close to kissing Avon then, in his relief that he hadn't lost him.

He picked up the pace. Suddenly, he realized how close he was to the rocky hillocks that bordered the wood. Avon was a stranger to GP, a Dome-raised tech who curled his lip when Blake told wildlife stories. He only considered people dangerous. Blake started jogging, arm up to deflect branches from his face. A cold, irrational fear clenched his gut. He would have run, but the increasing rain made the footing unstable. Avon's tracks were further apart now, indicating increased speed; he must have noticed the weather. Avon would be seeking shelter.

***

It was, all in all, not a bad day, Avon had thought when he awoke. Blake asleep was mercifully quiet, and rather appealing in an overgrown puppy fashion. He looked as peaceful as Avon felt, which was a pleasant change for both of them. He thought he could get used to Blake cheerfully insane. But he did wonder if Blake's infatuation was genuine or merely another symptom.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Sticky with dirt, sweat, leaf mold and the dried traces of lovemaking- Sex- he reminded himself firmly- he opted for a bath. Even a wash in cold, unfiltered, natural water would feel good. He cocked his head to one side and considered letting Blake know where he was going. No, the great white hunter said he could track Avon anywhere, let him do so.

This was the first time Avon had been at leisure to investigate nature. He had never stepped outside a Dome before joining Blake's harum-scarum rebellion, and since then, every planet they'd visited had the threat of Federation or hostile natives. It was odd, how much beauty there could be in a place, once you stopped looking for enemies.

He was considering returning to Blake, when it started to rain. Blake would no doubt rhapsodize on the event. He just thought it unnecessarily uncomfortable. There wasn't any shelter the way he'd come, perhaps there was something up ahead.

Avon looked back, thinking he heard his name. He grinned. Blake had found him, just as Avon had found a convenient cavelet. It looked little more than an opening in the rounded hillside, but should be large enough for the two of them. The rain began in earnest and he headed for the cave. Blake could follow at his leisure.

 

"NO, AVON!" Blake was too far away to stop Avon from entering the rocky overhang. He ran, driving hard, and cursing himself for not warning Avon. Whatever happened would be all Blake's fault.

 

Avon was idly amused to see Blake all in a dither. After all, what harm could a little rain do? It was cold, though. He stepped into the dimness of the overhanging stone. It was dark, and smelled musty, but it was warm and dry. He moved in further, not wishing to have Blake plow into him at a gallop. Then the ground disappeared.

 

At Avon's shout, Blake's heart flew up into his throat. "Oh, God, no, no," he sobbed as he scrambled up the loose scree. It would be easy to fall. He hoped that was all that had happened, but Avon wasn't one to yelp over a skinned knee.

"Avon!" he bellowed, reaching the black cave.

"Stop!" Avon yelled back. "There's no floor."

"I know. All these hills are like that. Some kind of volcanic bubble. Can you climb out?" He asked, cautiously moving forward until he was standing on the thin ledge of stone bordering the natural trap. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see the pale blur of Avon's face, perhaps four or five meters below.

"No. I seem to have broken my leg," Avon's voice was strained, "My own fault. You did try to warn me."

"Never mind. I'll come down."

"No! Don't! The pit is full of snakes."

Blake knelt at the edge of the pit, his worst fears confirmed. "Be very still, Avon. They're denning for warmth. They should be dormant this time of year."

"One of them wasn't," Avon's voice came up out of the gloom. "I think they must be rather venomous, Blake," he said, quietly. "I'm already going numb."

"I'm coming down."

"No!" Avon's voice was stronger. "It would be suicide. They're all around me, drawn by body heat, I imagine."

"Can you see well enough to shoot them?" All Blake could see was Avon's face and the gem-sparkle of reptilian eyes- dozens of them.

"I landed on the gun. It's broken, too."

Blake stared down into the dark, feeling helpless. He couldn't leave Avon to die alone. He turned and put a leg down, seeking a foothold. At least he could give Avon a companion for his death.

Avon heard. "Damn it, Blake, don't you dare play the martyr on me. I won't have it. I refuse to share eternity with you. Go away and let me die in peace."

"I can't, Avon." But he stopped. "Avon?"

"What?"

"I think I may be able to get the snakes away from you. Then I'll come for you."

"Don't be an idiot, Blake. One slip and you'll be in same mess I'm in."

"Then I won't slip." Blake checked his gun, thankful that it was a beam projector, and adjusted it to a mid-range setting. He fired at the opposite curve of the rock bubble, as far away from Avon as possible and held the trigger down for a count of ten, until the rocks glowed red-hot. "That should lure them away."

"On the theory that more warmth is better. Good idea," Avon gasped, his breathing audibly labored.

Impatient, Blake didn't wait until the rustling sounds of slithering reptile died away to begin clambering down. In the dark, it seemed endless, and it was a shock when his outstretched boot met a level surface. "Avon, quickly, get on my back." He crouched down beside the other man.

"Strange. On Liberator you always wanted me to 'get off your back'," Avon said, while pulling himself upright.

"Shut up and hang on." Blake patted Avon's arms, clenched tightly about his neck. They had little time. The poison would soon leech the strength from Avon's limbs. Blake lunged at the rocks, without noting the damage they caused his hands. He cared only for the trembling weight on his back.

"Ah!" Avon cried out, as his leg swung against the rock. His grip weakened from the sudden, shocking pain.

"Hold on, damn it! Can't you ever obey a simple order?" Blake roared, frantic with fear.

"Aye, aye, Mon Capitain," Avon whispered, his lips close to Blake's ear, his arms tight again.

Blake reached the top and flung himself and his burden over the edge. Without pausing for breath, he gathered Avon in his arms and staggered out of the cave, out into the clean, cold rain.

Avon's shivering was already so violent that the chill rain made little difference. Blake carried his lover to a dense patch of underbrush and huddled over him, shielding him with his body. For all the good it would do.

"Shouldn't you be doing something noble, Blake? Sucking out the poison, or setting my leg, or at least wiping my fevered brow?" Avon asked, when Blake's silent misery became too much for him.

"If you like." Blake gathered Avon close and gently wiped the rain from his face. "I'll set your leg later, when the rain stops and I can get some wood for splints. Where were you bitten?"

"Right foot. The broken leg. Can't really blame the creature. After all, I did land practically on top of it."

Blake cut away the boot, which was already tight around the swollen ankle. Two punctures, with only a trace of green showing. Most of the venom had been expended on the tough leather of the boot, which was no kindness to Avon. The full dose would have killed him by now. Enough had been injected and carried with the first beat of his heart throughout his body to kill him slowly but just as surely. All Blake could achieve by sucking the venom would be making himself mildly ill. He bent over to put his mouth to the spot, but Avon's hand was there covering the wound.

"Cally did teach me a little woodcraft, Blake. Don't bother. Unless you have a supply of antivenin?" At Blake's wordless headshake, Avon gave him a humorless grin. "Of course not." He panted, then said, "Funny. I always thought you'd be the death of me. Lately, I hadn't much cared." His hand shifted to clutch Blake's curls. "I find I resent it now."

"Avon." Blake was near tears. "Don't die, Avon."

"I have very little choice in the matter. I never did have any choice."

"Always, Avon. I always let you choose."

Avon laughed, a brief sound, cut off by lack of air. "No. You. Always. Made me. Choose. What you thought. Was right." He smiled, then went limp.

"Avon!" Blake checked for a pulse. It was there, thready and racing. He gathered the body in his arms, hugging him tight. It just wasn't bloody fair. He rocked back and forth, the shock and despair over Avon's fate at the moment when Blake had hoped for happiness shaking him to his foundations. Without Avon he had nothing, nothing left at all. He remembered the last time Avon had died, what it had done to him.

Only that wasn't right. Couldn't be right. It hadn't felt like this. He remembered it, though. He knew what happened, knew it because they- Yes! they told him what happened. And kept telling him until he believed because not to believe hurt too much. He wanted to be dead to join Avon. And he thought they'd reward him with death once he believed. But they didn't want him dead. They wanted him mad. Set loose to fester in the rebellion's side, an example of what fighting the Federation does to a man. Clever, so clever. Many a brave warrior would gladly die for the cause- how many would go mad willingly?

Abruptly, his mind cleared and he saw himself, among his own people, yet blind to them. Oh, no. Jenna. He'd hurt her. For all he knew, he'd killed her. And poor loyal Deva, given the thankless task of caring for a bitter, scarred madman, endangering the base he'd helped build. The base- they had a medical unit. They had antivenin. If only he could get Avon there in time. He struggled to his feet, cradling Avon against his chest, his tears washing away in the rain.

***

It was cold. Avon shivered, unwillingly returning to consciousness to deal with the problem. He groped, his hand finding the soft thickness of a blanket. With more effort than seemed reasonable, he pulled. But the blanket wouldn't move, pinned down by a heavy weight. Irritated, he opened his eyes. Blake. Of course, just let Avon try to get a little sleep and that big nuisance would lay all over Avon's bed, hogging the covers. He reached further, got a good grip, and tugged, to the limit of his strength.

"Ow!" Blake snapped his head away, rubbing at the scalp. "That hurt, Avon."

"Good." Avon was satisfied. The blanket- thief had been punished. "Cold."

"Avon? You understand me?"

"Seldom." Avon frowned. "I'm cold," he said petulantly.

Blake wrapped the blanket around Avon, lifting him to tuck him in like a child. Then he settled beside him, stroking Avon's hair. "Better?"

"Hmm," Avon agreed. He was about to go back to sleep, content, when a thought occurred to him. "Blake?"

"Yes, Avon?"

"Where?"

Blake grinned. It wasn't original, but it was the closest Avon had come to making sense in a week. "We're at my base, Avon. I got you here just in time. It was touch and go for a while."

Avon shifted, adding up the sensations. "Leg hurts."

"Well, you did break it. In two places."

"Your base?" Avon said, belatedly coming to that part of the conversation.

Blake smiled. "I remembered, Avon. I had to remember, or you'd have died." He ran a hand through his hair, which was clean now, and as well-groomed as it ever got. "Jenna's forgiven me, but she's still a little mad at you, I'm afraid. Also, I've been undergoing therapy myself," he admitted.

"About time." Avon smiled faintly and shut his eyes again. "Blake?"

"Yes, Avon."

"How?"

"How did we get here?" Blake asked. A small nod more felt against his chest than seen, answered him. Avon was about to fall asleep again. Which meant this was probably the best time to tell him. "The flier was hidden near my campsite. I lied, Avon. "

Avon sighed. "Always."

"No. Never again, Avon. I love you." He held on tightly. "The one thing they couldn't make me forget was my love for you. So they tried to kill you in my mind. But you wouldn't die, would you? And now I know you love me."

"Never said so."

"You did."

"Not."

"What do you think you've been talking about in your delirium?"

Avon's eyes opened, alarmed. "No."

"Oh, yes," Blake chuckled. "All day, every day. And with your crew at your bedside. They were all worried, you know. Vila especially. The doctors had to practically drive him away."

Avon shut his eyes again. "Vila," he said with as much disgust as he could force into his voice. Which wasn't much.

"Here I am. Did I miss anything?" The bright, cheery voice grated on Avon's nerves. He opened his eyes. Vila was holding the audio pick-up of a miniature recorder under his nose. "A message for posterity? To add to my collection?"

"Blake."

"Yes, Avon?"

"Kill Vila." His eyes drooped shut, suddenly leaden.

"Yes, Avon."

"Liar." Avon fell asleep, absurdly comforted by the rich sound of Blake's chuckle, and the warmth of the broad chest he lay on.


End file.
